#sage the ia

[thecontroll]

SPOILERS BELOW - The final Horizon.

Ohh, how I love this parallel ✨😭

I'm being a bit obvious here, sorry, but this ending hits deeper because of that, you know what happened in the other version and now this is repeated but it's a happy result (ignoring the post credits).

I don't know if it's all in my head but the colors seem "warmer".

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Where was demon slave and deadly sin ritual when the Umbra were being wiped out.

[torterragarden]

Avatar Belial players are so scary man I never know what they're gonna do, it's like they know they could die at any moment so they just go apeshitt. "I'm here for a good time not a long time" personified

[palskippah]

Hi! I give you this Stobotnik fankid I made a while ago :'y

She's Sofia --or Ivania or some other name ending in 'ia'-- Robotnik (coolest last name)

It's a compilation and also there's some Stone for practice bc I have no idea how to draw him pipipi Eggman is easier bc it's just his Sonic Boom design (I love it)

Some stuff about this universe under the cut!

(Btw if there's incongruencies is bc I can't make up my mind about the facts whwhw)

-Robotnik and Stone are married, very much married. Cartoon villains in love, I love that for them.

-["MARTHA I'M COMING HOME SWEETIE-"] Mixing up the movie things and the whatever's going on in the Sonic Boom, so Robotnik was gone for eight months and when he's back she's already born.

>Also the drawing is a reference to Icarly's "Whatcha got there?" "A smoothie" but she was clearly asking about the ostrich Spencer brought with him.

>Alternatively, Eggman's there and they go through the journey together yippiee. Choosing names, making evil parenting plans and whatever, being their idiot selves.

(After celebrating because they're good news actually) "I want a boy or a girl-" (Eggman) "Yeah me too." (Stone) "-and we should name them a single, worth of remembering name! Like... Eggette for a girl and Eggson for a boy." "I'm not letting you name them any of that, doctor..." "Okay, then how about Beyonce for a girl and-"

>They wouldn't have kids (?? maybe? I don't really know, I only know sonic boom and the movie :'U)- but she was probably the 1% the birth control warns you about. Also, Stobotnik got a very active seggsual life, and I'm imagining she came to be from a quickie over the desk, why not.

>Helpful diagram of Eggman + Stone kissing and then = baby. They were in work hours.

-In the one where he comes back and the baby's already there, Eggman does a terrible job as a father the few first months, but then he gets the hang of it and it's not so bad.

>He gets projectile vomited on and he's immediately asking to get an abortion (the baby's already born) (he didn't give birth to her), Stone says no anyways.

>"Surprisingly, I'm a good father" he thinks one day and it's because he's still very much an orphan here with no frame of comparation or example aside from researching the matter.

-In the one where they wait for her together, he does all the research necessary in all those months, absolutely refusing in doing an average job in that matter, he's the great Ivo Robotnik c'mon. He excels at anything and he'll be a great father (jk he's terrified of fucking up).

-The Stobotnik family is an evil but loving family, like the bears in Puss in Boots whwh criminal family✨

-For the funny of it, Sonic and Eggman got a sort of relationship like in Sonic Boom, so sometime maybe our favorite boy, Tails and Knuckles had to look after their child.

-Also since Knuckles broke Stone's and Robotnik's hands with their handshake, let's have him handle the baby with the most careful grip ever, just to demonstrate that he didn't have to grab their hands that hard aksdjask

-She's a big fan of Sonic and friends (Sonic the Hedgehog, not Sonic Wachowski, the second guy hadn't done even half the things she admires him for, but no one has the heart to tell her when she's a kid). Has a bunch of merch and all the comics of Sonic the Hedgehog.

>When she's a teenager she proudly uses her Sonic backpack in the same way Deadpool uses his Hello Kitty backpack.

-BTW Sonic, Knuckles and Tails are all brothers and Maddie and Tom's kids bc that's the best idea ever made.

-ALSO I'm definitely gonna draw that scene where Knuckles was about to put the baby in the blender and Sonic shouts THE CHILI DOG NOT THE BABY. Some day, you'll see pipipi.

-SAGE was created for various reasons, to be her sister (since she wouldn't stop asking for one but neither Stone nor Robotnik were willing in raising another human kid, thanks very much), to protect her, and also to answer the tedious "why?" questions that neither father had the patience for (A+ parenting right there). Maybe she was used for the original purpose too idk (I don't know that sonic game where she debuts).

>The child's delighted about having a sister, then she grows up and SAGE doesn't, so she has a little sister.

>METAL SONIC TOO MAYBE? Perfect lil american family, the two happily married parents and their three kids (one human girl, an IA and a robot clone of their alien enemy).

-On her early months she was called Pebble, because she really was a mini Stone, Robotnik went along with it (bc he also looked at her and only saw his husband whw) until she was a little older and they started calling her by her name.

>Alternatively, since Eggman was gone, Stone waited for him to return in hopes of choosing together a name for their child, and Pebble worked as a placeholder since she was just a bebi.

>Alternatively alternatively, Eggman came up with the nickname. ROCK-ONNAISSANCE 🗣️ also yeah I know he was going crazy from the mushroom stuff, but he's not above making silly puns, he's a dad now and also he's naturally silly.

(NGL I really gotta make up my mind about how it all happened ajsdkad)

-She's a spoiled kid and also a little menace, unintentionally evil, she can't help it.

>Good-hearted too sometimes, she loves Sage and does her best to protect her back (it's not necessary but it's appreciated anyways).

-Robotnik calls himself 'daddy' way too much in the live-action movies to ignore it, so he's daddy and Stone's dad (dada when she was younger).

>"These are my daddies!" (points to what's clearly two villains -but also good fathers-)

-She has Robotnik's eyes but as big as Stone's. They're the lethal-est sad puppy eyes ever (they work wonders on both parents and other people) (both men got beautiful dark brown eyes with visible eyelashes fight me).

>Look at Eggman's silly eyelashes:

>Also, you know that picture of Lee Majdoub with the beautiful everything? I think he was wearing eyeliner so my Stone wears eyeliner too in contrast to Eggman's dark circles under his eyes JDJS😭

-She's the five-year-old that made Sonic fear them because 'they can be so cruel when they sense weakness' (she was brutally honest as any young kid is).

-Stone and Robotnik got Gomez and Morticia Addams kinda parenting. They see their child beating up someone and they're like:

"What did we do wrong?" (Stone while shaking his head in disappointment) "I know... she lacks resourcefulness." (Eggman) "Exactly, there's her baseball bat right there, why doesn't she use it?"

-Remember that Shadow said in a game that he wouldn't mind taking a candy from a baby? (fandub I think but still) This comes in handy when neither Tails, Sonic or Knuckles want to upset the kid (so Shadow does it instead).

-She plays sports too because she got too much energy. In each of them she loses her patience. She grabs the football and hauls it at the nearest team member, she throws her baseball bat to the ground and starts beating up whoever threw the ball that she missed, she stomps in frustration if she loses, she's great at dodgeball (sends her classmates to the infirmary).

-Throws tantrums and stuff and overall's an annoying kid if she's upset. Eggman's like UGH WHY'S SHE LIKE THIS?? and Stone's like Because of you, doctor (terrible temperament runs in the family and also Robotnik just spoiled her too much).

-I'm kinda dressing her up in the clothes that existed in my mind that supposedly Eggman wore (the weird dress-like jacket with the big zipper in the middle). Under her jacket there's a dress in the same pattern as the original Eggman's clothes, also she wears a baby onesie like that too.

-When she's older she's definitely proud of her fathers, but she doesn't appreciate the rumors that she's prone to go power-crazy like Robotnik did. Especially because it may be true, but what do they know.

-For the irony, she can't stand drinking coffee, but loves the smell of it because it reminds her of home (omg).

-THEY HAVE A PET CAT like I read in some fics and her name is Robot and she's a lil shit and also grumpy like Robotnik.

>Maybe she brings her alive mice to experiment on all sort of stuff (like Pávlov and his dogs and the guy Skinner with his mice and cats (??))

-She gets to hang out with Sonic and friends under the condition of annoying him as much as possible. So, she complies. (She loves Sonic the Hedgehog, but she loves making her fathers happy more).

-Very smart kid but not to the level of Tails or Robotnik at that age, she's just got very good memory and learning skills and knows a lot of stuff ever since she was a little kid. More like a Matilda-kinda intelligence.

-She's a scientist when she grows up too but the kind that makes evil potions and serums and stuff aksjdk probably (chemistry things? biochem idk). She can make silly little robots for the fun of it but it's not her passion, unlike Robotnik and Stone's. PROBABLY. I'm still deciding.

-BTW LOOK (it says 'carefully crafted ploy to distract space porcupines')

>While Eggman's there with the baby and Sonic in front of him going AWWW BABY BOO and making her laugh, Stone is sneaking up on him holding a chair above his head to knock him out.

THAT'S IT THANKS FOR READING ✨✨

[perfectcollectiontalesaarikaknow]

Sage IAS Academy Ghaziabad

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 8: I Just Need A Stronger Dose]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), angsttttttttttt!

Both the series and chapter titles are lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

“What’s it about?” Aegon purrs in your ear, his ivory-and-red scarred arms circling around your waist, his fingers lacing over the lowest part of your belly, kindling heat and hunger that he draws out of your bones like water from a well, his ring of gold wings and jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours in through the library windows.

Smiling, you turn a page in the archaic, dusty book that’s cradled in your arms. It’s not on a subject you’ve ever seen before; of course it would only be here, where the Targaryens once worshiped their own gods and practiced rituals of fire and blood, that the occult would not be torn up and discarded like weeds. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?!” Aegon feigns being scandalized as he kisses your neck, soft lips and seeking hands. He’s been out in the courtyard sparring with a guard; he smells like salt and wine and rose oil and the ocean. “I do hope you don’t turn out to be an unrepentant sinner. I’d hate to have to burn you.”

“We’d match then.” You turn another page, sketches of different types of sage, dark forbidden recipes that promise to hurt or heal or protect. “I can’t say I am persuaded by the more mystical elements. But there are some interesting insights into herbology, I think.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Aegon muses, pulling up the skirts of your pale, ashy blue gown, his palms on your bare thighs. His lips curl mischieviously against your throat. “You reside on an island of dragons, in an oppressively gloomy castle built by spellcasters, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“You have it, perhaps,” you say. “Your family. Your house. I don’t believe in it as something that is real to the rest of us.”

“Don’t the Celtigars claim to possess a trumpet that summons a sea monster or something?”

“A horn,” you say, amused. “To wake krakens. And yet as much as my father enjoys boasting about it, he’s in no hurry to prove its efficacy, is he?”

Aegon turns your face to his and kisses you with a fierce, greedy hunger. “You’re magic,” he says as his hands move to loosen the laces of your gown. “You heal people. You bring them back from the dead.”

You’ve forgotten the book entirely. It tumbles out of your grasp. As Aegon tugs off your gown and it falls with a rustle to the stone floor, you reach back to touch him: white-blond hair, scarred cheek, his voice and his heat and his flesh that you need more of. Sunlight and late-summer air, a weakening red-tinged gold, hit your bare skin. Aegon is undressing himself too, and now his shirt and trousers are gone, and now he is leaving euphoric indigo shadows on your neck and shoulders, ghosts of pleasure that will haunt you long after this moment has passed, and now as he stands behind you his fingers find the warm, yearning wetness between your legs and stroke you there, parting folds, plunging between them, retreating just as you feel yourself climbing towards a peak, beginning the divine cycle over again.

“Yes,” you beg, hushed and hidden between the shelves of this ancient library, taboo texts and stories no one else remembers. You push your hips back against Aegon and he inhales sharply, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bookshelf as the other teases you, readies you, drives you mad with red ravenous lust. You can feel that he is hard. You can feel your fingers buried in his hair, the rough scar tissue of his chest against your spine, your bodies moving with an easy, harmless rhythm. “Please, Aegon, please, I need you…”

“Do you believe in magic now, wife?” he murmurs, a grin in his voice; and the shock of it drags you into a climax, a whirlpool, a storm, a fever that singes and scalds. He has never called you this before. His wife, his queen.

You cry out as the pleasure pulses through you, as your muscles unravel and your skull is cleared of the knowledge of all the ways in which the world is so irretrievably wrong, as you drink up every drop of Aegon with your eyes, lungs, spiraled fingerprints, the pores of your skin.

“Well, do you?” he asks again. He kisses you forcefully, possessively, biting at your lower lip. “Have I convinced you? Do you believe in magic now?”

And you smile dazedly as you answer: “I believe in you.”

“That will suffice, I suppose.”

He follows you down to the floor. You roll onto your back, pull him between your open thighs, cradle his face with your hands and kiss him deeply as he enters you, fills you, moves blissfully inside you. Long-dormant dust swirls into the air; specks of it float in aisles of sunlight like ships bobbing in the open ocean. The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, Aegon warm and kind. You arch into him, your hips rolling in time with his, your tongue tasting wine on his lips and salt on his flushed cheeks.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Aegon gasps. His braid is tucked behind his ear; you moved it there, or he did, it doesn’t matter, it belongs to both of you. Each time he thrusts, there is an indistinct sort of pleasure—low, muted somehow, like rocks covered by the sea at high tide—that builds, yes, but agonizingly slowly. You know he wants to make you come again. He’s trying to last, he’s battling against himself; but his face is already blood-red and his hands are trembling. He never discusses the pain with you, but it’s still there. He goes to the maesters when he has sunburn to be soothed or wounds to be cleaned and bandaged, he goes to Lord Larys Strong with his fears. He does not want you to think he is weak. He does not want to disappoint you.

You whisper through his mess of silver hair: “It’s alright, Aegon.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tiny oceans erased. “No, no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“I want it,” you insist. Your hips rock more quickly, taking the blame away from him, easing his burdens. “I want you to come, I want you to finish inside me, please, please, I want to feel you dripping out of me tomorrow, I want to remember this, I want you, I want you, I want you—”

Aegon moans, shudders, pours himself into you, a rush of energy and heat, a closeness you never believed was possible for two people to share. His unsteady hands constrict into fists against the stone floor. His teeth close around your collarbone, more violet blooms like the colors of a garden, more tokens of him that you carry around like gemstones. The waves wash over him, and then they recede; the tension evaporates from every scrap of him and Aegon collapses onto the floor beside you.

Skating his thumb along the line of your jaw, marveling at you in the dreamlike haze of the afterglow, he says softly: “We have to talk, Angel.”

Fear settles in the cage of your ribs, a cold heavy thing like the iron dragons that preside over the dark corridors of the castle, ominous leers and bared fangs. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His words are serene, his murky-blue eyes drowsy; his scarred chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. “When I leave to rejoin the war effort, I don’t know where you should go. I don’t know if you should stay here. I don’t know if I should have Larys try to take you to Storm’s End, or maybe Tarth or Estermont. I don’t know if you should return Claw Isle and wait out the bloodshed with your mother and sisters. I don’t know anything. And I can’t choose wrong. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your ruin.”

“I think I should stay on Dragonstone,” you say. “As long as you and Aemond are in the Riverlands, you would be able to fly back to see me.” And I might be able to help if Aegon is injured again.

He smirks, sadly, regretfully. “That would be my preference as well. But I fear it’s unwise. What if Daemon or Rhaenyra decide to come back to the island? They’re both far too preoccupied at the moment—Daemon fucking Nettles at Harrenhal, Rhaenyra stomping out rebellions in King’s Landing—but circumstances could change. Even if the Blacks believe you to be my unwilling captive, I don’t trust Daemon to treat you with decency. I don’t trust Rhaenyra’s paranoia to spare you.”

“I want to stay here. It’s our home now. It’s where I belong.” And you nestle into him, tangle up in him, will him to help win the war and then return to you.

Aegon chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Can you believe I was worried about whether this would work?” This: love as something physical, not just words or allegiances, not just something that changes how you see the world like peering through mist or smoke. “You had such a fear of it. Such adamant dread.”

“I feel safe with you.”

“Because I am a sad, weak, floppy little man?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Because you’re a good man. Even if no one else has ever seen it. I see it all. I see you.”

There is the echoing noise of a door opening, then slow, laborious footsteps. “Your Grace?” Larys says reticently from the other side of the bookshelf.

“Stop,” Aegon orders. “Wait.” He grabs your gown off the floor and helps you into it, then yanks on his own shirt and trousers. “Approach,” he tells his Master of Whisperers.

Larys appears, resting his interwoven hands on the handle of his cane. He bows, tactfully averting his gaze from your wrinkled dress, untidy hair, glistening sheen of shared sweat.

Aegon says: “Your timing is impeccable as always, Lord Larys.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. You have a guest and I did not want him to…catch you unawares.”

“Ah. And of course I have no idea who that could be.”

The library door opens again; you hear its archaic iron hinges creak. Swift light footsteps cross the room. Aemond breezes into the aisle between bookshelves and stands there, tall and willowy and watchful and with his long hair plaited into a thick silver braid. His clear blue eye shifts between Aegon and you, stoic, betraying nothing. Of course Aegon does not know about Aemond’s proposition. You would never tell him as long as the war wages on. It would be a distraction, a danger, an unnecessary wedge to drive between two people who desperately need each other.

“Back already?” Aegon says. “I’m sure the people of the Riverlands miss you dearly. They’re probably waiting outside with their livestock all in a row just waiting for you to soar by and cook their supper for them.”

Aemond ignores this. He stares at you, then looks back to his brother. “I’m starving from the journey.”

“How fortuitous, we’re famished as well.”

Larys notes helpfully: “The cooks have prepared soft-shelled crabs, seasoned, battered, and fried in oil. They’re ready now.”

“They’ve prepared what?” Aemond asks, nauseated.

“You’ll like the crabs,” Aegon says, and as he walks past Aemond he thumps him roughly on the shoulder. “You’ll see how much I enjoy them and you’ll suddenly want every last one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the courtyard, under the next day’s late-afternoon sun, Aegon is sparring with a strapping knight supplied by House Chyttering, one of the noble families you inspired Larys to bring surreptitiously into the Greens’ service. When the king practices like this, his opponents go easy on him. They assail him with halfhearted swings of their blades and feeble shield arms. The goal is not to turn Aegon into a robust warrior; he would need years for that, and he will not go into battle on his feet anyway. He just needs to be strong enough to ride a dragon.

Near where you stand, Lord Larys and Aemond are deep in conversation. Aemond is saying: “It is my understanding that she and Daemon are operating almost entirely independently at this point. Is that consistent with what you’ve heard?”

Larys nods. “When Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White betrayed her side, Rhaenyra lost faith in all the Dragonseeds. She ordered the arrest of Addam Velaryon, but Corlys warned the boy before he could be imprisoned and he escaped on Seasmoke. For protecting his bastard son’s life, Rhaenyra had Corlys thrown in the dungeons. A curious lack of empathy from someone who has so recently lost three sons of her own. The Velaryon fleet has abandoned her. Rhaenyra has offered a substantial reward to anyone who brings Nettles to her, dead or alive, as the girl has been sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason?” Aemond echoes doubtfully.

“Seducing the so-called queen’s husband.”

“Right,” Aemond says, thoughtful. In the center of the courtyard, Aegon is beating back the Chyttering lad with clumsy (yet determined) strikes of his sword. “What will Daemon do now, I wonder. Has he tired of the girl yet? She is a nobody, unlearned and of ignoble birth. Surely she cannot hold his interest for long, even if she is a dragonrider.”

“Time will reveal all, my prince,” Larys replies. “Perhaps Daemon will abandon Nettles. Perhaps he will defend her against Rhaenyra’s wrath. Perhaps he will send her away to safety.”

This heartens Aemond; it brightens his face like cool ethereal moonlight. “If she leaves, Sheepstealer will no longer be a threat to us. I can meet Daemon in battle. And in a fair fight, Vhagar will annihilate Caraxes.”

“I urge you to proceed cautiously,” Larys says. “You are the Greens’ greatest military asset, you are the prince regent, we need your leadership. If anything was to happen to you…” The Master of Whisperers trails off.

Aemond acts as if he hasn’t heard him. Instead, he unsheathes his sword and announces: “I think my brother needs more of a challenge. Allow me to assess the status of his recovery.” Then he takes a step towards the king.

Your hand juts out and closes around Aemond’s wrist. He blinks down at it, stunned that you have voluntarily touched him, perhaps. It is not an affectionate gesture, but it is a familiar one. You command Aemond, your voice low: “Don’t hurt him.”

“I never do,” Aemond replies, bewildered. Then he goes to meet Aegon in the center of the courtyard. The Chyttering knight retreats as Aemond approaches, twirling his sword effortlessly.

Aegon takes a defensive stance, both hands clutching the hilt of his own weapon. He’s grinning, but you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. He already knows he’s lost. “No great contest. I just have to aim for your left side.”

“Good thing I’ve never trained with my maiming in mind.” Aemond lunges and you yelp, started and fearful; he moves staggeringly quickly, his blade cutting through the air to clang against Aegon’s once, twice, and then the king is knocked to the ground with the point of Aemond’s sword at his throat.

“I yield,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the gravel. “You win. You are superior. You could still easily murder me if you chose to.”

“As long as you are aware of it.” Then Aemond takes his brother’s hand and pulls him to his feet, helping to brush pebbles from Aegon’s light armor.

“I should order you executed,” Aegon jests. “You’ve humiliated me in front of my wife.”

“I’m sure she was already well acquainted with your myriad of failings.”

“They are rather evident,” Aegon admits.

“Hm,” Aemond says to himself. Then he stalks back inside the castle with his silver hair flowing out behind him: to consult books, to plan battles, to console himself with wine, to put on Aegon’s crown and admire himself in a mirror, to brood as he glares at the walls, you aren’t sure.

Aegon slides his sword back into its scabbard and joins you by Lord Larys. When he speaks, his words are smug and anxious and eager and heartbroken. “I think I’m ready to go, Angel.”

“Tomorrow? When Aemond leaves?”

“Tomorrow,” Aegon agrees. He smiles, off-balanced and sad-eyed, as he takes your hands in his. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, but as always, he is still wearing his tiny braid; right now it is stained with dark gravel dust like soot, like ash. You can feel the chill of his gold dragon ring under your fingertips. “I have to help them win this war, Aemond, Criston, Daeron, Mother. I have to try to stop the end of the world.”

You mean to say something—I understand, I’m proud of you, I love you now and I’ll love you forever—but your voice breaks and you have nothing to offer him.

“I know,” Aegon says gently, cleaning a tear from your cheek with his thumbprint. “Come and walk with me. There’s one last thing I have to make sure I can do.”

On the long stone staircase that leads from the main castle entrance down to the beach, Sunfyre the Golden is waiting for his rider. He makes those alien sounds that unnerve you—clicks, growls, squeals, whistles—but Aegon seems to comprehend them. He rests a palm on his dragon’s gleaming face, just between his reptilian, liquid-metal eyes. Rain is rolling in off the ocean; the sky is thick with dark, low clouds. Cold wind claws at your hair and unfurls in your lungs, proof of the rapidly approaching end of summer. Winter Is Coming, you think, words that you have grown to hate.

“Would you like to go too?” Aegon asks as he prepares to climb up into the dragon’s saddle; and to your surprise, he is only half-joking. “I know Sunfyre won’t hurt you now. He understands what you mean to me.”

“I personally abhor dragons.” And all the destruction that only they can curse the earth with.

Sunfyre snorts; steam rises from his nostrils and he stretches out his wings, pale pink membranes that match your gown. Aegon laughs. “You will have to learn to appreciate them. Your house is the same as mine now. And we owe everything to these beasts.”

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you next time.” But no, you will never ride a dragon; you know that absolutely, unquestioningly.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” Aegon says. “And then I intend to keep you awake all night with—”

He cuts off like a severed limb. There is a scream in the sky, not of a man but of a dragon: too shrill to be Vhagar, too unfamiliar to be Tessarion, tinny but fierce, hostile, growing louder. The creature zooms by with blinding speed, a blur of pale pearlescent green, the fastest dragon you’ve ever witnessed, small but lethal.

Moondancer. That has to be Baela and Moondancer.

A column of fire bursts from Moondancer’s gaping jaws as she hurtles past Sunfyre, but just a sliver of an instant too late, narrowly missing him; still, the inferno is close enough that you can feel the apocalyptic heat, can see the air wrinkle and warp like the fabric of existence wearing thin. High above the ocean—her shadow like a bruise on slate-colored waves—Moondancer banks and begins to turn back towards where you stand.

“Get inside the castle!” Aegon is roaring at you. You are too terrified to move. “Go, go!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight them alone—!”

“Go!” He gives you a hard, frantic shove. “You get inside the castle and you stay there!” Then as you sprint up the staircase towards the entranceway, he clambers into Sunfyre’s saddle and takes off into the churning, thunderous sky.

You can hear them overhead: shrieking dragons, human shouts, flames crackling and billowing, wings flapping like the sails of a ship. You stagger into Dragonstone screaming for Aemond. Larys rushes to you, the guards materialize like vultures around a corpse, but none of them can help Aegon. Only Aemond can. Only he and Vhagar.

You tear through the castle. You are banging on doors with your open palms, racing up steps, calling for Aemond until your throat is raw and you can taste the coppery sting of blood. Aemond comes running and grips your shoulders to steady you. He is panicked, he is petrified. “What, what is it—?!”

“Baela, Moondancer!”

Aemond understands immediately. He bolts for the castle entranceway, you following close behind him. He does not tell you to remain within the towering, mist-sopped walls of Dragonstone. Perhaps it does not occur to him; perhaps he knows you would not listen.

“Your Grace!” Larys is imploring you. Not my lady, not Lady Celtigar. Your Grace, because Aegon believes I am his queen. “Your Grace, please, I beg you, stay here where it is safe!”

When you and Aemond cross through the doorway and out into the windswept, iron-grey air, you look up to see it just as it happens. Sunfyre and Moondancer are gnarled together like a sailor’s knot, hissing and snapping, drawing blood from each other, clawing and clinging with suicidal rage. Now their wings are little more than shredded ribbons of thin membranous flesh. Now the dragons are plummeting towards the beach. And Aegon is falling, falling, falling from an impossible height, his hands reaching to grab for a rope that doesn’t exist, his legs kicking as if through water. He is crashing to the earth like a bird shot through with an arrow, like an angel whose wings have been sheared off, ripped out by the root, burned away.

You are shrieking his name, but you know this is useless, that you are useless, that nothing you’ve ever learned or practiced can stop this. You and Aemond are racing down to the beach, clutching each other’s arms on the staircase so neither of you trip and stumble off of it. You are dimly aware that there are guards and maesters behind you, and Lord Larys too, and that they are speaking in frenzied phrases that you cannot understand. You and Aemond are united in that. You are both beyond words.

Aegon is on the sand. He isn’t dead; he isn’t even unconscious. He is screaming like he was on the day you met him, when half his skin had been scorched by Meleys’ flames, when he was near death and you were the only reason he lived. Now he is not burned; but his legs are destroyed. They are not just broken. They are shattered, grotesque bulges everywhere, moon-white bone splitting through the skin in two places on his left leg and three on his right. His trousers hang in bloody tatters. Someone is wailing, someone sounds like they have lost their mind. Someone is raking their fingernails against your face until your cheeks are bleeding. Oh, it’s you, it’s you, but you don’t feel real, and neither does this moment, and neither does the knowledge that Aegon will not leave tomorrow to help win the war, may never walk again, may not be alive by midnight. You have dragged men back from the brink of death, countless men, and you have done so with almost supernatural composure; but this is no anonymous doomed soldier. This is Aegon, and he is ruined.

Down at the other end of the beach, Sunfyre is tearing out Moondancer’s throat with his teeth, loosing a vicious subterranean snarl. From the surf, a seemingly uninjured Baela emerges, coughing seawater from her lungs and reeling on her hands and knees. Larys is instructing someone to take her to the castle dungeons. The maesters and guards are swarming around their fallen king and trying to decide how to move him without damaging his legs further. Aegon, meanwhile, is reaching for his brother.

“Aemond—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aemond drops to his knees and tenderly sweeps Aegon’s shaggy silver hair out of his eyes. “We’re going to get you inside and the maesters will set your legs. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to help you.”

Aegon howls, tears flooding down his face. He snaps at Aemond as he grabs his hand and squeezes it: “When the fuck is it going to be your turn to get hurt?!”

“It will happen eventually, I’m sure,” Aemond replies grimly. Then he glances up at you. You have to free yourself from this shock, this horror. You have to help Aegon.

You kneel down in wet, bloodied sand and begin to examine him. In a trembling voice, you tell Larys and the maesters and the guards how he must be carried—feet-first when going up the staircase, lessening the strain of gravity on his legs—and that the wounds must be painstakingly cleaned before the fractures are set to prevent infection. You try to say more, but you can’t. Your gaze lands on Aegon’s agonized face and is trapped there, a mutual recognition of the death of one future and the bleak, torturous nightfall of another.

Why couldn’t I stop this? I love him, I love him, why can’t I stop him from suffering?

Aegon looks to Aemond and says something in High Valyrian, something halting and with immense effort. Whatever Aegon asks for, Aemond is momentarily taken aback by it. Then he nods, understanding. And when the guards lift Aegon—Larys and the maesters supervising, the king shrieking until the pain knocks him unconscious—Aemond links his arms around you and stops you from following them up the jagged stone staircase.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” You fight him, and you don’t just fight, you screech and claw and strike at him, you scratch at his face until you rip his eyepatch away and Aemond’s glittering sapphire shines in the fading light. Raindrops are beginning to fall. You’re crying; tears fill your eyes until your sight is hopelessly obscured, until the world is nothing but a grey like smoke, ashes, storms.

Aemond is murmuring to you patiently: “Shh. Stop, stop. Please don’t fight me. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Aemond, let me go!”

“He doesn’t want you to think of him as someone helpless, someone weak—”

“You did this!” you scream into Aemond as he entombs you in his arms, unbreakable like steel. Your fists drum futilely against his chest. “You started this war, you murdered Luke, you started it and it’s going to kill Aegon, you did this, you did this, it’s going to kill him and it’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” Aemond whispers, lips to your ear, his heartbeat thudding against yours. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to kill him,” you moan, sobs ripping through you; and at some point you stop fighting Aemond and begin holding onto him, not because what you’ve said isn’t true but because he understands, and because he’s the only person you have left who can.

I want Autumn, you think powerlessly, miserably. And I want her child to have another chance at life. I want Everett. I want Alicent and Jaehaera. I want Helaena and Maelor and Jaehaerys and Otto. I want wisdom, guidance, innocence, hope. I want the future and I want the past.

“I can end this war,” Aemond swears to you as the full moon rises and the waves crash against the shore. “I can make things right again. I can end it. I can win.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It is hours later when Aemond allows you into the room, illuminated by flickering candles and ghostly moonlight. Aegon lies unconscious in the same bed where he made love to you for the first time, where he might never again, where he showed you that there is something besides fear and pain and surrender to be found in marriage.

His legs have been set as well as they can be, bandaged, elevated. You would have done nothing differently if it had been you to tend him in place of the maesters: Jasper from House Hardy, Lothair of House Stokeworth, men you have taught everything you know to just as they shared their expertise with you. Aegon has been given as much milk of the poppy as his body can endure without his heartbeat slowing until it stops. You sit on the edge of the bed and untie his braid, weave a new one, undo it again, knit and unknit glistening silver strands like the strings of a spider’s web. You can’t imagine what will happen next. You don’t want to.

When Aegon stirs, you clasp his hand, letting him know that you’re here. His dragon ring is missing, you notice; no gold wings, no jade eyes. It must have slipped off when he tumbled from the sky. And you remember what Aegon told you about his dreams of Helaena, about the warning she imparted to him, her ghost or her memory or something else wearing her face: Don’t fall, don’t fall.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His voice is hoarse and whisper-thin. He’s trying to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to start over with you.”

Start over how, Aegon? In peacetime? As a dynasty? With retribution or forgiveness? With children? “You will. You still can.”

“I knew I’d disappoint you.”

“Aegon, I’m not disappointed,” you say, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just want to help you. I want to take care of you. I love you.”

But he blacks out again before he can give you his familiar refrain, something in High Valyrian that he doesn’t know Aemond has provided you with the translation of. To your misfortune. And is Aegon wrong when he says this? Is he really?

You drift into a fitful sleep beside Aegon, wake up only a few hours later with sore, damp eyes, make sure he’s still breathing. It’s raining heavily now; sheets of it patter against the windows and thunder quakes the castle. You rise from the bed and walk without knowing where you’re going. When you find yourself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, drenched with rain and freckled with fiery torchlight from the mouth of an iron dragon, you don’t remember how you got there. You are cold and shivering; you are so profoundly, numbly despondent that you cannot move, cannot think, can only sit with your arms curled around your bent knees and your eyes vacant.

By the time Aemond finds you, your dusky pink gown—stained with splotches of Aegon’s blood—is soaked through. Aemond lurks just inside the doorway of the castle that opens into the gardens, sheltered from the storm. “Why are you sitting in the rain?”

You do not answer. You cannot answer. You stare blankly out into the night as droplets pelt you, stinging your skin like needles.

“You should come inside,” Aemond tells you. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

Nothing he says matters. Will going inside cure Aegon? Will catching pneumonia rob you of any life worth living?

Aemond sighs and strides out into the rain to meet you. “I have to go back to the Riverlands now. Will you be alright here?”

Your words are a question, but your tone isn’t. You speak bitterly and without looking at him. “Why would you care.”

“I care intensely,” Aemond says, kindly now. “If you don’t know why, you haven’t been listening.”

“You don’t want me. You just want to feel like you’re better than him. That you’re worthy of being chosen, worthy of fathering the heir.”

He shrugs. “Nothing in life is without ambition. Love is never entirely selfless.”

“Mine is.”

“No,” Aemond says severely. “No, you want things for yourself. You want a choice in who you marry. You want to escape the burden of bedding someone dull or repugnant or cruel. What makes you think you’re so high above the fate that the rest of us have suffered? Do you have any idea how desperately few people get to marry for love? But you can’t endure that resignation. You have to covet something more. Even if it gets you killed.”

Have suffered, Aemond said. Not will suffer. Have suffered. At last, you turn to him. “You’ve never had a wife. When were you ever forced to lie with someone?”

He stares at you and does not answer, cold rain dripping from his face, a vulnerable childlike apprehension in his lone blue eye.

Then you remember: the madam at the brothel, Aemond’s aversion to her unmistakable familiarity. What had he said when he apologized for leaving you there? It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. “At the brothel,” you realize. “The Pink Pearl.”

“Yes,” Aemond says, very quietly.

“How old were you?”

“Barely thirteen.”

He was a boy, you think, horrified. Not a man. Just a boy. “Who took you there?”

“Who do you think?”

There is only one true possibility. Aegon, just a few years older and already corrupted in every sense of the word, drunk and miserable and lustful and lost.

“He thought he was doing me a kindness,” Aemond says. “He didn’t intend for there to be any harm, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean no harm occurred.”

“That should never have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of things should never have happened.” Aemond’s hair hangs in long, disheveled waves. Now his clothes are sodden with rain too, not a pale pink like exposed organs or half-healed burns but a verdant, jealous green. “I can’t leave until you come inside out of the rain.”

It doesn’t matter where I am. I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop the world from crashing down. “If he’s dead I want to be too.”

“He’s not dying,” Aemond insists. “He won’t be able to fight, but he will live.”

He won’t, you think, lifeless words that are cold and grey like tombstones. The suffering is too great. The trauma is too dire. It stacks up like blood-red coins in his liver, his heart, his lungs, his kidneys. And eventually the scales will tip, and it will kill him, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

Aemond offers you his hand. “Let me walk you back inside.”

“Please leave me.”

“I can’t,” Aemond replies, distressed.

You are weeping now; your own words choke you. “I want to stay here.”

“No you don’t. The pain just feels so heavy you can’t find your way out from under it.”

He is still holding out a hand to you. At last, you take it. And you make a confession, dark, venomous, unfamiliar like the voice of a stranger. “I used to believe war was hell for everyone. I used to want the suffering to end. But I don’t think I do anymore. I think I want the Blacks to suffer greatly. I want them to suffer more than they ever knew was possible.”

And in the maelstrom of the driving rain, Aemond grins until his teeth look like fangs in the shifting, rageful, rust-and-blood glow of the firelight.

[skz-sage]

skz + sage 5star moments (hyung-line)

a/n: sorri for being ia 💀 ive had no inspiration for sage. this is only hyung line, plz lmk if you want pt2 with maknae line!

chris

in the studio while recording s-class. sage keeps getting her lines wrong which is making her physically upset. head in hands and whining. shes thinking shes never takes this long, what could she be doing wrong? chris’ little “miju its okay~” “take your time, honey.” his affection and words makes her smile like a little kid, not expressing out loud how much she liked it but after she got done in 10 minutes max.

minho

during dance practice. they were trying to come up with new choreography as a group. sage speaks up and suggests on one of her lines she does a little hip sway while singing only to have lino immediately shutting her down. “wth why??” “you’ve never done it before! you’ll kill stay.” “and you don’t all the time?! its my turn” “calm down its just a little hip sway, you’re not doing anything great.” lino runs off with sage running after him with a water bottle.

changbin

working out. sage records vlogs on yt for stay sometimes called “s-logs 4 stay”. on this episode, she went to the gym with changbin. she expresses how she doesn’t do pilates often or ever, only when its recommended. she likes going to the gym instead. while working out, changbin walks over to the camera which sage has propped up facing herself. “ahh cute dwaekki~” sage cooed. babying changbin is her specialty. but is quickly met with bitterness. “ah muévete! this vlog is about me.” (“move aside!”) changbin stared her down before walking away.

hyunjin

painting live. hyunjin and sage painted often when on off days. they thought it was a good idea to show off to stay on live. this live was a staple in s-class era, everyone loved their chemistry in this live. they’re always so careful with each other and make sure to take everything they say into consideration. “hyunjin, how does it look?” sage speaks up while holding up her painting for hyunjin. “I love it. how’re you so good? I’m jealous.” he chuckled. “JEALOUS? your paintings are so fuck- oh I can’t say that. your paintings are even better. I should be jealous! well I am.” sage chuckled with him. she would lay her head on hyunjins shoulder while he painted, talking to stay. that’s her soulmate. hwang hyunjin.

[bridgeportbritt]

An Official Statement from Willington Palace: HM Queen Diana and HRH Prince Gerhard Announce the Birth of Their Second Child

TRH Grand Duke and Duchess of Sage gave birth to a healthy baby girl! The newest addition to the Royal family was in the early morning at the Willington Palace Medical Center which has recently been revamped. The birth went extremely well with no complications. The Grand Duke and Prince Parker were present for the birth.

HRH Princess Mia Lotte Winston De Geloes, Duchess of Sage

Princess Mia's name was chosen to honor two legendary women in the Royal family. The first being Mia's grandmother, the late Queen Margaret. The "M" in her name is meant to pay homage to Diana's mother. The "ia" in Mia is meant to honor the very first Queen of SimDonia - the late Queen Ophelia. The Queen remembers her grandmother and mother through her daughter.

Lotte is a traditional Simovian name to embrace Prince Gerhard's side. While her official last name (much like the Queen's) does not include her father's last name, she will be referred by both Winston and De Geloes.

The Princess' nursery was decorated by the same interior designer to help with Willington Palaces' major renovation. Various shade of pink and white are used throughout the room. Many toys and furniture have been based down from other family members.

So far, Princess Mia has met her uncle and aunt, King Brother Spencer and Queen Sister Elizabeth. The two will join Queen Diana and family to Simovia shortly after Winterfest where they will celebrate the Queen's birthday!

Photos shared include an all-pink picture of the new couple with baby Mia and a Winterfest photo with the whole family!

Thank you for welcoming the new princess and have a happy and healthy holiday season with your loved ones!

Of course sims was being wonky so I didn't show more of the birth! But so many cute shots! Pretend like the skin color isn't wrong and changing each time the baby is in/out the bassinet.

Parker isn't so sure about his new sibling...

Spencer and Elizabeth meet the nooboo.

Mia becomes a newborn (with blue eyes for some reason???)

I'll share more of Diana's bday party in Simovia soon!

@simoviacourt

[miles-is-so-gay]

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 EP 8 OF THE BOYS

my thoughts directly after watching the episode, not edited for spelling or grammer or continuity sorry :( [divider]

so

lotta things

rip nueman, you were a girlboss and will be deeply missed aND OH GOD YOUR DAUGHTER OUAGHHH AAAAAAAA

ashley you served cunt tbh and if she doesnt get stable powers i will be VERY dissappointed

i still fucking hate firecracker and want to beat her up but she DOES NOT DESERVE THAT SHIT FROM HOMELANDER!!!!!

speaking of homelander HOMELANDER KHS CHALLANGE!!!!!!!!

on frenchie and kimiko: WHYYYYYYY FUCKING HELL WHYYYYYYYY JESUS CHRIST CANT A TV EVER HAVE JUST TWO PEOPLE OF OPPOSITE GENDERS THAT JUST LIKE EACH OTHER PLATONICALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY GAVE ME THAT AND NOW IVE BEEN THROWN UNDER THE BUS OMG IM GOING TO EAT CONCRETE

hughie, honey, baby boy, my good man, DONT LET THESE SHOWRUNNERS KEEP WRITING YOU LIKE THIS WHAT THE HELL!!!!! IT IS NOT HIS FAULT THAT HE DIDN'T KNOW THE SHAPESHIFTER WAS POSING AS ANNIE FOR OVER A WEEK!!! THE SHIFTER CAN FUCKING READ MINDS TOO BTW AND HE LISTED ONLY 3 THINGS HE NOTICED - 2 if we arent counting the realization in the bunker - WHICH IS NOT ALOT. AAAA

dear shapeshifter, KYS!!! NOW!!!! but also thank you for existing on the show very fun callback to spn

on the spn note: BALLS! IDJIT!! YAY :D

i love sage shes great tbh but also FUUCKKNKKKKKKK !!!!! SHES SO EVIL AND FUCKED UP AND TBH A GREAT CHARACTER I HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT SEASON

butcher has tentacles now. mr. swiss cheese-for-brains is the ultimate supe killer... ok. .......................... he resigned himself to death and then felt the need to say SORRY!!!! to the BOYS!!!!! and then he fucks it up bc mallorey fucked it up and IS DEAD WHAT!!!!!!!!!

RYAN MY BOY YOU WERE SO CLOSE LOOK AT YOU IN EP 7 STANDING UP FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN AND JUST HERE IN EP8 WALKING OUT ON HOMELANDER CUZ HES A WHINEY LITTLE FUCKHEAD AAAAAA

AND MALLOREY I KNOW YOU HAD GOKD INTENTIONS BUT GODDAMMIT!!! YOU'RE FUCKING HEAD OF THE C GODAMN IA PLEASEE GIRL ALSO RIP OH GODDD

tl;dr: rip neuman, ashley girlboss, firecracker please beat homelanders ass, homelander khs challange, frenchie and kimiko get RUINED for me, male sa not funny but annie ig i get her reaction, i hate shapeshifter but i love spn reference, BALLS! IDJIT!, sage is so evil/pos, swiss-cheese-for-brains has tentacles and i want to beat his ass, ryan IM SORRYY, mallorey you fucked up!!!!!!!!

[jizzlords]

— get to know helvetica !

what's your phone wallpaper: my boy, binx.

last song you listened to: kalam eineh but then as the world falls down.

currently reading: mo dao zu shi, 2nd novel (reading 2 books but nvm that)

last movie: HM... mm... sleeping beauty? i think? comfort...

what are you wearing right now?: black loungewear. riveting. racy, even.

how tall are you?: 5'6" physically, 6'1 spiritually.

piercings / tattoos?: 2 tattoos (count on 3 more soon), ears are pierced. 🍒 next + 3 more on the left ear.

glasses / contacts: both. contacts are my go-to.

last thing you ate?: chili. coffee for dessert lol.

favorite color: black, black, black. "iTs A sHadE" purple, blues, sage. what do u want from me?

current obsession: ozzie. and drawing. hand in hand.

do you have a crush right now?: i dunno. there's sometimes the feeling of wanting to take care of someone so i pour that into muse ngl.

favorite fictional character: ozzie. fizzarolli. male/ficent. evil queen. lan wangji. mor/ticia add/ams. cesare (bigtop). vil sch/oenheit. lil/ia vanro/uge. reg/ina mi//s. jessica rabbit. gi/bert nigh/tray. roxas. mett/aton. this is in no certain order.

last place you travelled: was gonna be san fran. plans changed. so maybe ... hm... los angeles? riveting.

tagged by: @maimedaffair blows raspberries on ur cheek tagging: @clwngasm, @yukikorogashi, @gctchell, @therealricksanchezpleasestandup, @plasticsouled, @helluvahotelx, @hamactiia idk if tumblr will let me tag more so.... take it, tag me. im nosy.

[thecontroll]

I have two sides:

Sage is adorable, best daughter, I like her so much ☺️ / WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO METAL SONIC?!? WHERE IS HE!!! ARE JUST IGNORING HIM??? SHIT--

[thejvstice]

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀( 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓  ››

( 2024 ) ⸻ @iriscge said : ❛ will you please slow down a little? ❜

não era de propósito que andava rápido. tinha pernas longas e um horário apertado, era quase inevitável. mesmo em dias como aquele, sua folga, ele não conseguia relaxar inteiramente. inclusive, estava pensando em passar no escritório para pegar alguns documentos quando ouviu o pedido de sage. ❛ por quê? está passando mal? torceu o pé? eu avisei que esse sapato ia acabar te machucando. ❜ devolveu ao se virar para trás e perceber que o pedido não era tão infundado. valentin tinha aberto certa distância entre os dois sem querer. apesar do tom de voz carregar pitadas de um resmungo, era seu jeito de demonstrar preocupação.

[zonadelcaos]

SONIC CHANNEL STAFF COLUMN - Presentación Calendario Octubre 2024

Artículo original del Sonic Channel publicado el 20/09/2024

¡Hola! Soy KIKUZO, webmaster del Sonic Channel.

Los abrasadores días están finalmente terminando, y en estos momentos siento la llegada del otoño…Así que ten cuidado de no salir volando como un equidna rojo y fiable en esos días de mucho viento que no tuvimos en verano.

Bueno, el personaje que aparecerá en el calendario de octubre de 2024 es…

¡Knuckles!

Knuckles es un equidna fuerte y robusto que protege la enorme gema conocida como la Master Emerald en la isla flotante llamada Angel Island. Su increíble fuerza, capaz de romper rocas, es tan impresionante que incluso Sonic lo admira. Con su carácter sincero y serio, se gana la confianza de sus compañeros.

Aunque su ingenuidad le hace un poco fácil de engañar, esa honestidad también es una de sus encantadoras características.

----

¡Gracias a todos los que participasteis en la votación de personajes! Los cuatro personajes que se podían votar eran los siguientes

Y bien, el personaje elegido para aparecer en la ilustración junto a Knuckles es…

¡Sage!

Una chica etérea y misteriosa, su verdadera identidad es la de… ¡Una super inteligente IA creada por el Dr. Eggman! Su lealtad hacia su creador es extremadamente alta y posee un pensamiento muy racional. A veces ¿incluso sugiere estrategias que hacen dudar al propio Eggman?

En la precuela de Sonic Frontiers, "Prologue: Divergence", Sage se enfrenta a Knuckles y este termina confinado. Al presenciar su comportamiento destructivo, quizás ella llegó a la conclusión de que, si las cosas seguían así, Eggman podría estar en peligro, lo que la llevó a decidir que era necesario encerrarlo.

--------

¡Y esta es la ilustración de esta ocasión!

"¡Knuckles y Sage escalando un acantilado hasta la cima!" Knuckles avanza de manera extraordinaria por la alta y empinada montaña de Pumpkin Hill, mientras Sage vuela a su lado con una expresión que parece decir: "¿Por qué te esfuerzas en algo tan inútil…?" ¿Cuál será su objetivo? ¿Y qué habrá en la cima? ¡Asegúrate de descargar el calendario en Sonic Channel y disfrutarlo!

[angelofdiamond]

In the recent TailsTube videos we have discovered that Eggman secretly considers Sage his family and his finest creation in fact of IA (surclasing even Metal at this point) in addition, the presence of Sage has made a positive connection in Eggman life 🥹💞🫠

[page-2-ids]

Somnockia: A gender related to the passage of time, dreamy colors, foggy weather, decades worth of leather-bound journals filled with cursive writing, massive dark academia-ish libraries, aging, feeling your life slipping through your fingers, knowledge that only comes from living, funerals, graves, crumbling headstones, and melancholy. It could also be related to the Aerosmith song Dream On and the Guns N’ Roses cover of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. Some also may experience this gender through a Saudania lense/as a Saudania gender, though that won’t apply to all users.

Some lyrics that describe the theme of this gender, and that it may be related to though it doesn’t have to be, are:

“The past is gone || It went by like dusk to dawn”

“I know nobody knows || Where it comes and where it goes”

“Half my life’s in book’s written pages || Lived and learned from fools and from sages”

“Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away”

“Mama, take this badge from me || I can’t use it anymore || It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see”

“That cold black cloud is comin’ down”

“Feels like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door”

The name comes from a mix of Som(n) from somnium or somnus (the latin words for dream and sleep respectively), (n)ock from Knockin’, and ia from Dreamiagender or Saudania

The colors are inspired by my associations with the vibe of this term

This was for the third day of my coining event! Prompt: Dream On (Aerosmith) // Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (any version)

Suggested Names and Pronouns 🔽🔽🔽

Pronouns: (just a heads up, my dark academia pronouns aren’t part of this suggestion - as much as I like those, this doesn’t feel like it has enough of a focus on it to justify that)

A/Aven/Aver/Avers/Avenself

Cur/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Curs/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Curse/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Cursi/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Cursiv/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Cursiv/Cursive/Cursives/Cursives/Cursiveself

Cursive/Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursiveself

Cursive/Cursive/Cursives/Cursives/Cursiveself

Daw/Dawn/Dawns/Dawns/Dawnself

Dawn/Dawn/Dawns/Dawns/Dawnself

De/Decade/Decades/Decades/Decadeself

Dec/Decade/Decades/Decades/Decadeself

Deca/Decade/Decades/Decades/Decadeself

Decade/Decade/Decades/Decades/Decadeself

Dre/Dream/Dreams/Dreams/Dreamself

Dre/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Drea/Dream/Dreams/Dreams/Dreamself

Drea/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dream/Dream/Dreams/Dreams/Dreamself

Dream/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dreame/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dreamy/Dreamer/Dreamer/Dreamers/Dreamerself

Dus/Dusk/Dusks/Dusks/Duskself

Dusk/Dusk/Dusks/Dusks/Duskself

Fog/Fog/Fogs/Fogs/Fogself

Gra/Grave/Graves/Graves/Graveself

Grave/Grave/Graves/Graves/Graveself

Gray/Grave/Graves/Graves/Graveself

Grey/Grave/Graves/Graves/Graveself

He/Heaven/Heavens/Heavens/Heavenself

Hea/Heaven/Heavens/Heavens/Heavenself

Heav/Heaven/Heavens/Heavens/Heavenself

Heave/Heaven/Heavens/Heavens/Heavenself

Heaven/Heaven/Heavens/Heavens/Heavenself

Jo/Journal/Jour/Jours/Journalself

Jo/Journal/Journals/Journals/Journalself

Jour/Journal/Jour/Jours/Journalself

Jour/Journal/Journals/Journals/Journalself

Jorna/Journal/Jour/Jours/Journalself

Jorna/Journal/Journals/Journals/Journalself

Jornal/Journal/Jour/Jours/Journalself

Jornal/Journal/Journals/Journals/Journalself

Le/Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leatherself

Lea/Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leatherself

Leath/Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leatherself

Leathe/Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leatherself

Leather/Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leatherself

Leather/Leather/Leathers/Leathers/Leatherself

Pas/Past/Past/Pasts/Pastself

Past/Past/Past/Pasts/Pastself

Past/Past/Pasts/Pasts/Pastself

Xae/Xaem/Xaem/Xaems/Xaemself

Xae/Xaem/Xaems/Xaems/Xaemself

Xae/Xaem/Xaer/Xaers/Xaemself

Names:

Angel

Choly

Cholia

Daunia

Dawn

Don

Dream

Dreamer

Dusk

Fog

Foggy

Mela

Meli

Mella

Melli

Mort

Mortis

Mortus

Mortuus

Nevaeh

Nia

Noctis

Nocturn

Noctus

Nox

Sage

Saudan

Som

Somn

Somni

Somnium

Tru

True